


Can't turn away

by Anneth_is_alright



Category: Youtube RPF
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe - Colleagues, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-20 00:36:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5986402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anneth_is_alright/pseuds/Anneth_is_alright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Colleagues AU.<br/>"Why are you so special?" Connor asks, and in any other scenario Troye's heart would have melted at this question, but he knows that Connor doesn't mean it that way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't turn away

**Author's Note:**

> The amount of times I used the word 'weird' or its synonyms in this story could serve as a warning in itself.
> 
> And wait, you can also read it in Russian [here ](https://ficbook.net/readfic/4079533)

When Connor was younger, he thought that celebrating New Year (or any holiday, for that matter) with your colleagues was nothing but pathetic.

Well, here he is now, in his mid-20s, sipping free corporate champagne and making a polite chit-chat with his tipsy boss at the New Year's party.

Sighing into his drink, he reaches for his phone to send another bored text to Steve.

A half of Connor feels sorry for his boyfriend that he has to work even when everyone else is having fun, the other half feels a little bit sad for himself that he is stuck at this lame event without anyone to keep him company.

In a true Cinderella fashion, Connor promises himself that he would leave straight after the midnight. He checks the time and feels nothing but relief when he sees that he has about half an hour left.

He notices a mane of purple hair on the dance floor, hears familiar British accents by the bar, but he doesn't feel like joining his friends at the moment.

The mane of purple hair, however, won't leave him alone.

Over the music Connor hears Tyler yell something to another person, managing to catch only his name as well as words 'sourpuss' and 'timeout', and a few seconds later an unfamiliar boy stumbles right into Connor's personal space.

"You Connor?" the boy slurs, and when Connor, shocked, nods, he continues, "Tyler told me to keep you company."

Which in Tyler-speak means 'Tyler is way too invested into hooking up with this cute guy from legal to keep an eye on my drunk self, but he is still a good friend and he can't just leave me unsupervised, and you aren't having fun anyway, so you will hold back my metaphorical hair when I puke my guts out in ten minutes'.

Connor briefly wonders to himself whether holding back the boy's hair will be something more than a figure of speech because the curls on the top of his head are, indeed, unruly. Momentarily distracted, Connor misses the boy's name completely but he doesn't really care.

He spends the last minutes of the year getting the boy he doesn't know tall glasses of cool water and making sure he doesn't faint or vomit.

When the crowd erupts in cheers, starting the countdown to midnight, the boy perks up suddenly, grabbing Connor's wrist, "Will you be my New Year's kiss?" he asks, his eyes wide and hopeful.

"Excuse me?" Connor's eyes are equally wide, but for the whole different reason.

The boy deflates slightly, but he still doesn't let go, "I mean, it's a tradition, and why the hell not?"

"Why the hell not?" Connor repeats under his breath, right before planting a chaste, light peck on the boy's cheek, when the clock hits midnight, "Happy New Year."

With that, Connor leaves the party, a pout of disappointment on the other boy's face going completely unnoticed by him.

Back at home, Connor curls up on the bed, a book in his lap, when he hears the front door open.

Still in his sleeping shorts, he pads barefoot into the living room. "You're home," he greets joyfully, reaching up to wrap his arms around Steve's broad shoulders.

The other man laughs tiredly, hiding his face in the crook of Connor's neck, "Yeah, a crazy night."

"Crazier than usual?" asks Connor.

"It's the New Year, baby, people are drunk and insane. Apart from fireworks incidents, we've had a few stabbing wounds and even a gun shot injury," Connor feels Steve shake his head, "Crazy. How was the party?"

"Speaking of crazy," Connor is rubbing circles into Steve's tired, slumped shoulders, "Tyler hooked up with that guy he has been hitting on for ages, my boss drunkenly told me that he is getting a divorce, and I kissed a boy at midnight."

All signs of exhaustion leave Steve's face immediately, as he peers at Connor, his mouth slightly agape.

Playful side of him taking over, Connor keeps on rambling, "Yeah, can you believe it? He and his wife have been doing so great lately, even went to family therapy together, and what about the kids? More importantly, who is going to get the dog when they are separated?"

Steve sighs, pressing his forehead against Connor's, "You're messing with me."

"Yeah, I am," Connor beams. "But I did peck this guy on the cheek at midnight though."

Steve faux-gasps, "You cheater! How could you, Desdemona?"

Connor bursts out laughing, "Are you going to choke me as well?"

The other man pretends to consider it for a moment, "Well, erotic asphyxiation is a thing, so..." but he receives a light slap on his chest and joins in Connor's laughter. When their giggles subside, he asks, "You hungry? We still have got some leftover Indian, I think."

Connor nods with a yawn, suddenly feeling more and more tired, but follows Steve into the kitchen nonetheless.

Yeah, a crazy night.

***

The first person Connor meets when the work starts is, incidentally, the same boy from the New Year's. He is standing in the middle of the kitchen area and is looking at the coffeemaker as if it is his lifeline.

"Hangover?" Connor asks with a teasing smile, making the boy jump in surprise and spill the milk from the carton in his hands.

But then something odd happens - the boy's face softens a fraction in recognition, and he smiles gently at Connor, as if meeting him is an essential part of his morning routine, "It's you."

And Connor is just staring back dumbly, his brain conveniently void of things to say, a puddle of skimmed milk in between them.

"Thank you," the boy breaks the silence finally, "for taking care of me."

"My pleasure," Connor finds himself saying, and this isn't exactly true because no pleasure was involved in that situation but he doesn't feel like he's lying.

"Do you want to get a coffee, maybe?"

The question is innocent, maybe worded a little bit weirdly, considering they are standing right in front of a freshly brewed pot, but the boy's expression is shy, almost hesitant, and that makes Connor uneasy.

"Yeah, thank you," he raises an empty mug he has been holding.

"No, I meant," the boy giggles nervously, "I meant, do you want to go out with me sometime to get a coffee?"

"Oh," is all Connor can come up with at the moment.

Oh, indeed.

Struggling a little, he manages a question of his own, "What is your name?" and there is probably not a single thing that could be worse of a response when someone asks you out.

"I'm Troye," the boy mumbles quietly, his full lips pursed in a childish pout, "I thought I told you."

Connor gives him an insincere, uncomfortable smile, "Yeah, of course, Troye, sure, it just slipped my mind." He knows that he would need to reject the boy, but the eyes he's looking into are again so wide and hopeful - and _so blue_ , and Connor knows that in a parallel universe he would have accepted in a breath.

But in this reality he does the only thing that is not morally bankrupt and says, "I'm sorry, I must have given you a wrong impression, I should have told you earlier that I'm in relati... I mean, I have a boyfriend, Troye, I'm sorry."

"You were by yourself at the party," the boy hurries to explain himself, "so I just assumed..."

Connor nods hastily and clarifies, "Steve had a night shift at work, so he couldn't come." This makes Troye quirk an eyebrow, so Connor adds, "He is a doctor."

"Of course he is a doctor," Troye mutters under his breath, smiling sadly at the joke that Connor obviously doesn't understand.

Troye leaves the kitchen area with his coffee mug still painstakingly empty.

They do go out for a coffee eventually, but it is nothing like Troye's initial intention.

It happens weeks later, and they are accompanied by Dan and Zoe, and all of them are dog-tired after a few extra hours at work.

The next time it happens, Zoe claims that her caffeine intake is unhealthy and makes her anxiety more severe; the time after that Dan bails on them under the pretense of having to meet some friend; so, starting from this point, Connor and Troye get coffee by themselves, and it is their little tradition.

Connor would have thought that it would be awkward but no, it is _perfect_. They talk about everything - Troye tells vivid stories about skinny dipping in the ocean and sings wordless melodies he comes up with, while Connor describes how hard it is to shovel snow in the winter and doodles clothes designs in his sketchbook.

The only thing they don't talk about is Connor's relationship with Steve.

Oddly enough, it is Connor who avoids mentioning his boyfriend in the conversation as a plague, while Troye remains indifferent to the topic.

Connor doesn't talk much about Troye either.

A few bits and pieces of information manage to seep through the cracks in the iron curtain he has put up, and Steve knows of a certain colleague of Connor's who is some sort of a graphic design prodigy, but, other than that, Connor keeps silent.

He doesn't know himself why he is doing that and it feels a little bit wrong but talking to either of them about the other seems wrong too.

The weird, fragile companionship that Connor and Troye have established is broken the day Tyler Oakley has an impromptu hangout at his place.

Which in Tyler-speak means 'I couldn't be bothered to order takeout or, God forbid, cook but I have a shitload of alcohol left from the party last week, and I don't want it to go to waste'.

An hour into drinking, already glassy-eyed Caspar decides to inform the rest, "I've never made out with a guy."

"Well, that can be remedied easily," Tyler replies quietly, so only Joe catches it and bursts into laughter, while Tyler confesses, "I've never made out with a girl."

"I have," Troye calls back evenly from his spot for on the floor, where he sits leaning on the armchair and a little bit on Connor's knees, and Tyler wiggles his eyebrows interestedly, prompting him to continue. "It was on set of the movies I did when I was younger, and it was awkward. And sloppy. But I don't know whether it was bad because it was a girl or because there were, like, 50 people watching."

Connor is not even close to being drunk, but he isn't sober either, caught up in the perfect middle ground where warm buzz from the alcohol makes him see things he has never paid any attention to before.

He shifts in his seat on the armchair slightly, his knees jutting forward and hitting Troye, who is right in front of him, on the head slightly. The boy, too occupied with the discussion, doesn't react to the movement, doesn't turn to look at him, and suddenly the only thing Connor wants is to distract him, to have his full, undivided attention, so he reaches out and presses his fingertips to the back of Troye's head.

The gesture is unusual, barely a soft caress, bearing a tinge of possessiveness that doesn't belong in their relationship.

Connor feels short hairs, much shorter than the mess that cascades down Troye's forehead, and slides his fingers upwards, his grip stronger, almost forceful.

The boy in front of him inhales sharply, and Connor stops the slow progression of his fingers, afraid he has hurt him, but then Troye moves his head almost imperceptibly into Connor's hand, like a kitten waiting to be petted. His eyes flutter closed, and the choked sounds he tries to muffle resemble purring, and Connor catches himself thinking about other sounds this boy could make.

"Wait, Connor," Tyler calls out, obviously drunk enough to the point where he doesn't really register what he is talking about, and Connor drops his hand immediately, listening to his friend's question, "You dated girls before, right?" Tyler asks, at what both Caspar and Joe quirk an eyebrow.

"Yes?" is Connor's cautious reply.

"So who gives head better?" the gleam in Tyler's eyes is almost manic but then again, maybe, it is light reflecting in his glasses. "Guys or girls?"

Connor picks up his tumbler of scotch, fighting a desire to roll his eyes at his friend, "I call myself gay for a reason, Ty," he says with a small smirk.

And that is the end of this discussion. Tyler evidently wants to investigate this issue further, but, thankfully, he is tactful enough to let it go for the moment.

A couple of hours later it finally occurs to everyone that getting smashed on a weekday is not the brightest idea, so Tyler's guests exit his apartment one by one, leaving the gracious host snoring happily in his bed.

Connor's eyes are glued to the phone where his uber driver tries, and tries, and tries (and fails) to find the right turn onto the street where Tyler lives.

"Hey, are you alright?" a familiar voice asks him, "Do you need water or something?"

Connor looks up, ignoring his phone momentarily in favor of answering Troye's question, "Thank you, I'm good."

Troye doesn't seem fully convinced as he perches on the armrest next to Connor clumsily, "Sure?"

And by the way he slurs the word Connor deduces that Troye is not very sober either - the thought makes him crack a smile.

Troye is positively drunk - Connor decides - when the boy just smiles back at him for no apparent reason, and this makes his own smile even wider.

He reaches out to the boy to pinch his cheek in a condescendingly fond gesture but ends up with his hand cradling his jaw gently. His thumb dances along the outline of Troye's lower lip, the touch as soft as one of butterfly's wings, repeating its way from one corner of the lip to the other.

Until Troye does the unexpected.

He parts his lips slightly, and Connor feels a warm, wet touch on the pad of his finger. Troye trails his tongue up and down Connor's thumb, and this is not the dirtiest thing Connor has done, not even close, it is weird, almost ridiculous, strange, and it is also the most deliciously sinful thing he has ever experienced.

When his phone calls, Connor's first instinct is to pull away, to leave, to hide, but Troye grips his wrist tightly with both hands, leaving him motionless, his eyes a wordless challenge.

"Hello?" Connor's voice is shamefully weak when he picks up. He doesn't listen to what the person is trying to say to him because Troye chooses this exact moment to wrap his lips tightly around his finger, and it is hot and wet, and there's a hint of teeth that would not be as welcome elsewhere, and the thought of 'elsewhere' sends electric tingles down to the small of his back.

The only thing preventing him from flat out moaning is that his uber driver is currently waiting for his response on the phone.

"I'll be out in a minute," Connor manages to mumble.

The last thing he sees before leaving Tyler's apartment is Troye licking his lips contently.

***

Connor loves flea markets.

Each object here has a story of its own, and Connor, the hopeless romantic that he is, wants nothing more but to learn it.

Steve, with his logical, almost clinical thinking, doesn't understand the charms of such places but he loves Connor, and if that means driving for an hour on Sunday morning to buy a previously owned Dutch clock, he would do it in a heartbeat, with the widest smile on his face.

"How cute is that?" asks Connor, picking up a porcelain dish with an ornament on it.

"It doesn't seem practical," Steve counters, looking at the object in Connor's hands as a scientist looks at an unknown species - with a mix of interest and wariness.

Connor puts the thing down in favor of regarding his boyfriend with faux-contempt, "It's decorative," and Steve just laughs at his own ignorance in aesthetic matters.

He drapes his arm around Connor's shoulders and leads him away.

They end up buying not only the Dutch clock they have come here for initially, but a couple of cushions, a great number of candles, the dish they were talking about earlier, and a poster about coffee that Connor seems to have fallen in love with at the first sight.

Connor is basking in the perfection that is this morning right until he runs straight into person he has been avoiding the whole week.

"Hi, Troye," he says, when it is painstakingly clear that there is no way he could pretend that he hasn't noticed him.

Avoiding Troye has been surprisingly easy so far.

Connor expected his task to be more complicated, given they literally work at the same place, but, as it turns out, ignoring someone's existence, even though this someone is sitting a couple of rows down in the same open space, could be achieved without extra effort.

Either that, or Troye avoids him too, and Connor hasn't decided yet which version he prefers.

Not that he cares anyway.

"Connor," the boy nods curtly in response, his gaze fleeting between him and Steve, assessing them in a deceptive calmness.

"This is my boyfriend Steve," Connor says, and everything about the situation feels wrong. "Steve, this is Troye from work."

Steve, oblivious to the tension between the two, smiles widely, shaking Troye's hand, and laughs light-heartedly, "Oh, I've heard a lot about your shenanigans at the New Year's party."

Steve obviously means it as a joke, not necessarily the most appropriate one, but - Connor has to admit - it would be funny.

It isn't.

Troye is looking at both of them as if he is mere seconds from sprinting away, panic in his eyes barely concealed, and Connor feels like something inside his chest is burning.

Before Steve can catch up on the mess this situation is rapidly becoming, his phone conveniently rings, and, judging by his facial expression, Connor can tell that it is something unpleasant and something work-related.

"Sorry, baby," Steve says after he hangs up, "Everyone at the hospital seems to have come down with this flu, and they need all the staff available, so..."

"I understand," Connor interrupts him, "Are you going right now?"

Steve takes a look at their purchases, and flinches, "I'll have to get you home first - there's no way you'll be able to carry this all on your own."

Connor opens his mouth to say that he's going to call a cab, when Troye pipes up unexpectedly, "I can drive you," he says, looking at Connor, and then ducks his head shyly, as if mentally scolding himself for offering.

Before Connor can decline, however, Steve thanks Troye profusely, passing him the clock he has been holding, kisses Connor on the cheek hastily, shakes Troye's hand once again, and leaves.

"Let's go," Troye says, his voice so soft that the sentence is almost inaudible.

They don't talk on their way back, Troye only mouths the lyrics to the songs that are playing on the radio and Connor only says where to turn right or left.

When Troye offers to help to carry the things upstairs, Connor doesn't say no. When Connor asks whether Troye would like to stay for coffee, Troye doesn't say no.

When Troye kisses him, Connor doesn't say no.

Instead, he kisses back with matching fervor, pulling the curly-haired boy in front of him impossibly close, so their heaving chests are touching, and he feels again the short hairs on the back of boy's head with his fingertips.

It dawns on him that he has missed this sensation.

But then Troye puts his hands on Connor, and it suddenly feels like there is no more air in the room, because Connor is panting, gulping oxygen into his burning lungs, and he thinks he is about to faint.

The same pair of surprisingly strong hands keeps Connor upright when his knees give out, and suddenly Troye freezes.

"Tell me to stop, Connor," he pleads.

And Connor obediently opens his mouth to do just so, but his body has a mind of his own, "Don't stop, Troye, please."

Troye doesn't test his luck and doesn't ask him again, his eyes dancing across the living room wildly in a rushed search for the door that leads to the bedroom.

When they both stumble into the room, Troye ignores a t-shirt forgotten on the bed, which is obviously too big to be Connor's, and Connor ignores how the rumpled sheets smell of something familiar, which at the moment seems almost forgotten.

He doesn't want to remember.

So he closes his eyes and presses Troye closer, so the only thing he sees, he smells, he feels is Troye.

That is the only thing he wants right now.

***

Steve seems to think that Connor is going through one of the phases of OCD aggravation, and it is a perfect logical assumption.

Connor washes the sheets almost every other day, and it is excessive and, moreover, inconvenient, his usual daily showers have doubled in frequency and length, and he claims that their place smells weird even when it clearly doesn't.

But all that doesn't make Connor feel clean.

He runs a lot too, but jogging around the block doesn't help Connor to run away from facing the reality.

He is a cheater.

His and Steve's home, Tyler's place, Troye's small apartment, an inexpensive 3-star hotel near the office - he has tainted them all.

They can't stop, and Connor isn't sure whether either of them really wants to.

"Why are you so special to me?" Connor asks one day, his mouth working its way down Troye's pale stomach.

And in any other scenario Troye's heart would have melted at this question but he knows that Connor doesn't mean it that way.

"Why can't I say 'no' to you?" he asks, while his hands struggle with the buckle of Troye's belt.

Troye doesn't answer him.

Probably because the questions they ask themselves are the same.

They have a small routine of their own now.

It starts with Troye sending Connor an empty work email with a question mark in the subject. Then Connor lies to Steve that he's going to work late, and replies to the email with a simple '+' sign.

After that, it is up to Troye to book a suite or to invite Connor to his place. He texts him the details and time, they go separately, and they never talk.

Connor never stays.

But sometimes on his way there he buys a couple of white chocolate muffins at the nearby coffee shop because he knows that they are Troye's favorite, and sometimes Troye's flat smells like this candle from the Anthropology store that Connor adores.

Connor always feels cold now, except when he's with Troye. The guilt, however, doesn't leave him at all.

The first night that they spend wholly together is simply magical, and Connor thinks that if the world were to come to its end right now, he wouldn't mind it as long as he is here, cuddled under the blankets with this wonderful boy with sad eyes.

"Is he working _again_?" Troye asks, hesitation in his voice almost palpable.

"Don't do that, Troye," Connor snaps with uncharacteristic coldness.

"Don't do what?"

"Don't try to blame Steve for something that is _entirely_ my fault."

Troye doesn't say anything, just presses his lips into Connor's neck, and Connor feels a little bit ashamed that it actually helps.

They argue sometimes too.

It is nothing like the lovers' quarrels Connor used to have with Steve when they moved in together, stupid and stubborn rows about whose turn it is to wash dishes or where they should celebrate Thanksgiving.

It is pointless, and achy, and it is Troye's way of communicating how much he's hurting.

Connor wants him to end things between them, because he himself clearly cannot, but neither can Troye.

The closest he comes to this is whispering 'I'm not sure I can...', but he doesn't finish the sentence and peppers Connor's knuckles with small kisses instead.

There are no promises of forever between them, no labels.

When Tyler sets up Troye on a blind date without the latter knowing, Connor just shrugs. He doesn't feel like he has a right to say anything.

But Troye, ever wonderful Troye, comes back to Connor and tells him, even without prompting, that the date was horrible, and a metal ring constricting tightly around Connor's chest loosens a little.

"You're beautiful," Connor says, before pressing his lips to Troye's gently. "I'm sorry. You deserve better than what I can give you."

And there is no surprise on Troye's face when he hears it, just unconditional acceptance, almost defeat, and he replies, "But I want you."

For some reason they don't have sex that night.

That, frankly, scares Connor more than anything.

Explaining what he is doing as just going with animalistic urges of his body is predictable, easy and somewhat understandable.

No, Connor doesn't try to find excuses, to justify himself - he doesn't feel like he deserves the burden he is carrying to be lifted from his shoulders - but cheating on someone to have a mindless sex is, to an extent, common. It happens, and people frown upon it but it is simpler.

What his relationship with Troye is slowly becoming is complicated and inexplicable.

"Maybe we're supposed to be soulmates?" Troye asks one day with an atypical careless grin.

"Don't feed me this adolescent bullshit, Troye, soulmates don't exist," Connor quips.

And that is the closest they come to discussing their relationship.

But then Connor gets promoted at work.

He is smiling sincerely for the first time in months, in a year probably, then grabs his phone, and after a few seconds his smile drops.

The reason for that is the person he's currently drafting a text to. It is not Connor's mom, not his best friend, not his boyfriend.

It's Troye.

This evening, instead of sharing the good news about work, Connor says to Troye, "I love you."

And Troye's smile is so wide, and his kisses are so sloppy and energetic, and he keeps on repeating these words back to Connor as if he has been holding them back all this time, too afraid of driving him away.

This night Connor doesn't sleep.

He makes what is probably the hardest decision he has ever made in his life.

***

Discussing private matters in the office kitchen area is not the smartest decision, but Connor gave up on smart decisions the night of the New Year's party.

"I think I'm going to break up with Steve," he declares, and Troye spills the milk from the carton he is holding.

"Con," he calls, but doesn't say anything when Connor looks at him.

"...and I told her that this is bullshit but she wouldn't listen..." Caspar interrupts the story he is relaying to Joe when he notices two boys standing by the coffeemaker awkwardly. "Hey, guys," he greets cheerfully, and Joe nods and grins. "Anyways, I had to call her mum at, like, 2 in the morning..."

Ignoring whatever Caspar has to say, Troye asks quietly, "Are you going to tell him everything?" and Connor looks at him as if he is insane.

"No, I'll never tell him the truth," he answers solemnly. "It will hurt him, and will make it easier for me, and that is not the way things are supposed to be."

There's so much wrong with this statement that Troye doesn't even know where to start, but Caspar is getting increasingly more animated and loud, and this is not the time or the place for this discussion.

"Where are you going to live?" he asks instead.

"With Dustin and his fiancée for awhile, until I find a place of my own," Connor answers with a sad chuckle.

And that is the end of it.

This evening Troye is restless, he wanders around his apartment, drinks an insane amount of coffee, and itches to text Connor but always stops himself, afraid to make everything worse.

That night he makes an important decision of his own.

The next morning, arriving at work, he rushes to the coffeemaker because for some reason he feels that he would find Connor there.

He is not wrong, because here the boy is, dark circles under his eyes, his clothes the same they were yesterday, a cup of coffee forgotten on the counter next to him.

"Connor," Troye calls.

And Connor feels weak, as if he is not collapsing only because he prohibits himself from doing so, and the fact that Troye is here, he is finally here, fills him with an odd relief.

"It's done," he mutters faintly, and for some unknown reason, Troye hugs him.

There is nothing sexual, nothing even remotely romantic, about the embrace - Troye is simply here, and it is enough.

"I want you to live with me," Troye says, and the inner turmoil is evident in Connor's face, so Troye gently smooths out the wrinkles on the boy's forehead with his fingers. "Whenever you're ready."

Connor hugs him back tightly and doesn't respond, but it is a promise.

He overstays his welcome at Dustin's house.

It is awkward, of course it is, a lovey-dovey couple months away from marriage and a man who has just gotten out of several years of relationship are living under the same roof.

But Dustin is his brother, and he understands.

Maybe some intricacies of Connor's complicated relationships evade him, but he understands what he and Troye have. It occurs to Connor the moment Dustin escapes from his own house, saying he will go out to grab a cup of coffee, leaving them alone with each other.

The thing is Dustin detests coffee.

What makes Connor love his brother even more, if it is possible, is that he never asks questions Connor is not ready to answer, and that is exactly what he needs right now.

It takes Connor a long time to heal, but it happens.

One day he wakes up before the alarm goes off and finds himself smiling for no apparent reason.

Troye notices the change, and the picture of the future he paints in his imagination is getting brighter and clearer.

One day he drags Connor to the mall, and Connor feels like he's a high schooler on a date, but they go coffee shopping, so he doesn't complain much.

Troye is torn between two brands of coffee machines, before settling on the pricier one with a reasoning of 'We are going to use it often, so we will get our value for money', and Connor finds himself agreeing.

They carry the goddamn thing to Troye's place, and it is so humongous that it seems like it occupies the whole kitchen, but Troye claims to like it anyway.

Connor stays the night, saying that the best coffee should be brewed in the mornings.

Night turns into a week, a month, and then Dustin calls him, asking whether he can return to his friend the blowup mattress Connor has been sleeping on, and it dawns on Connor that he hasn't stayed at his brother's place for six weeks.

Connor is home, as simple as that.

Their place is tiny, but they don't need much space anyway - they sleep almost on each other, their clothes are mixed together already, and they order takeout.

Troye looks happy, and Connor is also happy, he is sure of it, but sometimes he can't fall asleep at night.

He thinks Troye doesn't know, but this is Troye, after all, and he knows everything there is to know about Connor.

It is 4 a.m., when Troye's soothing, low voice breaks the non-slumber Connor is in, "I wouldn't have done anything differently."

Connor doesn't respond, just turns his head a fraction in Troye's direction as a form of a silent question.

"If I had to do this, all of this, again, I wouldn't have changed a single thing, because this is how we got together. Would you?"

And this is insanely hard question, the one to which Connor has been trying to find an answer since the beginning, but at 4 a.m., in this small apartment, on this bed, too narrow for two people, he finds his answer, "No, I wouldn't."

It is truth.

"You've made bad choices," Troye falls silent for a second, " _we_ have made bad choices, but this doesn't make us bad people," he reaches out and presses two fingers lightly to Connor's forehead, "You need to forgive yourself, Connor."

Connor is not able to do what Troye is telling him to, but he thinks - hopes - that he will someday.

And that promise of better is more than he could have ever wished for.

**Author's Note:**

> I got an idea for this story about a year ago so, technically, it is my first Tronnor work.


End file.
